Unexpected
by hospitalforsouls
Summary: When Clara wakes up in a strange room, with the Doctor by her side and no memory of the past twenty-four hours, surely something's up. (Awful summary, Whouffle! T because I'm paranoid)


**Authors note/disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, unfortunately. Whouffle would be canon already if I did. Plot, though, is mine! Happy birthday Megs, enjoy your day and this fluffly bit of nonsense (:**

Clara wakes up slowly, and as she does so she becomes aware that the bed she's lying in isn't hers. It's too soft, and there are far too many pillows for her liking, not to mention the fact that the sheets smell of cheap detergent and not the familiar jasmine-scented washing powder she always uses.

She's not alone in this bed, she realises suddenly. There's an arm around her waist and a warm weight to her left. She turns her head, and finds herself face to face with a sleeping Doctor.

Well. This is new.

She tentatively wriggles away from him and out of bed, shivering slightly as cool air hits her exposed arms and lower legs. Looking down at herself, she wonders where the little white dress came from, and why she's wearing it. She can't remember ever buying it, and nor can she recall the events of the previous night that might explain how she ended up here, in what she presumed was a fancy hotel room, with the Doctor at her side... And a pounding between her temples, one she recognises as the pain of a hangover, that decides to make itself known just then.

Shower, she tells herself. Maybe a shower will clear her head, and perhaps by that time the Doctor will have woken up and they can try to sort out this whole mess.

She stares at her reflection in the mirror over the sink for a minute. Red and white roses are tangled in her hair, a sharp contrast to the dark brown. The remains of black makeup are smudged around her bright eyes, and there's a height of colour in her pale cheeks.

The bathroom fills with steam and the scent of the shampoo and shower gel the hotel provides, and Clara allows the hot spray of water to wash over her, cleansing her skin and hair and clearing the haze in her mind just a little. A memory of the day before surfaces, and she mentally hits herself as she remembers the Doctor's excited face, telling her that he wanted to take her to somewhere he'd heard about, somewhere on Earth for once, somewhere that was meant to be one of the most amazing places in the world. She'd agreed, of course.

She's agree to go anywhere that involved being with the Doctor.

"Nope, shut up Clara!" she tells herself, out loud this time, rinsing the conditioner from her hair and turning off the water. Her clothes from the previous day, a black skirt, red blouse and denim jacket, hang on the back of the bathroom door, and after drying off with a fluffy white towel she puts them on, relishing the feel of the familiar fabric against her skin. She wraps the towel around her wet hair and goes back out to the main room, where the Doctor still appears to be asleep.

The clock says it's almost midday, though, so Clara goes to the curtains, twitching them open just a little to allow some natural light into the dim room, and almost collapses for two reasons.

One, the view outside is one she's only seen before in films and on cheesy television shows.

And two, the sunlight glints off the twisted gold band that definitely wasn't on her left-hand ring finger the day before.

"Clara?"

It's the Doctor's voice, and Clara turns from the window, breathing deeply, trying to compose herself.

"Clara...?"

"That's my name." She forces a smile, and goes to sit on the bed beside him. "Morning, sleepy."

"Morning... I think. Is it still morning?" he asks.

"Just about." Her smile is real this time. "Now, would you mind explaining why exactly you brought me to-"

She breaks off as the Doctor jumps out of bed and practically runs to the bathroom. Even from here, with the door closed, she can hear him being sick.

Of course. If she's hungover, he probably will be too, and whereas she's used to the occasional drink and the after-effects, he's not likely to be.

"Doctor?" she calls, going to the bathroom door and knocking gently. "Are you okay?"

The only reply she gets is a soft groan.

"I'm coming in," she says quietly, pushing the door open. She sighs as she sees him, pale and shaking slightly, sitting on the tiled floor. "Not great, is it?" she asks, sitting on the edge of the bath and absentmindedly running her fingers through his hair. "I can't remember what the hell we did last night, but I'm guessing it wasn't a normal Wednesday?"

He shakes his head slowly.

"Come on." She tries to sound bright. "Back to bed? No point going anywhere with a hangover."

"Is that what this is?"

"Probably. Low alcohol tolerance and drinking tend to do that to you, and I suspect we did a lot of that last night."

She goes back to the bedroom and calls room service for coffee and painkillers while he freshens up and changes out of that awful cheap-looking suit he's wearing. That is definitely not one of his usual ones.

It's when Clara's rifling through her old black shoulder bag to find her purse that she comes across her little silver camera.

"Doctor?" she calls.

"Yes, hello." He exits the bathroom, looking considerably better than he did before.

"Did I take any pictures last night?"

"Yes. Yes, you did. Rather a lot of pictures, actually. Were you as intoxicated as I appear to have been?"

"Probably. And in that case, this," she waves the camera at him, "should be rather entertaining to look at. Coffee?"

"Why don't you look like you're dying, then?"

He's not letting go of the whole 'hung-over' thing, she realises. "A, I've been like this many times before. B, I'm not a 900-year-old alien being. Probably other reasons too, but I can't be bothered thinking of them." She perches on the bed, sips her drink and leans back into the pillows, tucking her bare feet up underneath her as the Doctor joins her.

She's not completely certain, but she wonders if it's necessary for him to sit quite that close to her.

She's not complaining, though, and as she turns the camera on, she shuffles just a little bit closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder, unsure of why she's doing it but knowing that it feels somehow right.

The first picture they look at was clearly taken by Clara fairly early in the day. She's laughing and trying to pull the Doctor into the picture along with half of the iconic "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas" sign.

"Am I insane?" she wonders aloud, shaking her head.

"Maybe a little bit," he tells her, quickly adding, "I'm joking!" when she flicks him on the arm.

They go through most of the photos fairly quickly, the majority of them obviously taken by shaking hands and depicting one or both of them in progressively crazier situations, including one of the Doctor and a scantily-clad woman with her leg around his neck, and a series of snaps of Clara wearing a pink and white feather boa and posing.

"I remember that," the Doctor says, pointing to Clara's pursed lips in one of the photographs. "You kissed me afterwards."

Her heart skips a beat.

"What?" She's sure she can't have heard right.

"You kissed me. I turned the camera off, you hooked that ridiculous fluffy thing around my neck so I couldn't get away, and you kissed me."

No. No, no, no, is all she can think. I can't have done. He's making things up to tease me, because I can't remember and he can remember some of it.

But why would he make up something like that?

She gets up, cold coffee abandoned on the bedside table, and goes to the window, pushing it open to try and cool her flaming cheeks and maybe somehow stop the angry tears of humiliation that threaten to spill over and stream down her cheeks. She leans on the window ledge, her hair blowing in the breeze, breathing slowly. Don't cry don't cry don't cry, she tells herself.

"It was a nice kiss," whispers a voice in her ear. "Believe me, it was. I wouldn't have kissed you back otherwise."

She freezes as a flyaway strand of her hair is tucked behind her ear, gasping softly the hand that did it trails slowly down her cheek and under her chin, turning her face towards the Doctor's so they're centimetres away from each other.

"You... You kissed me back?" Her voice shakes and cracks a little, and she bites her lip.

"Yes, Clara. I did."

She's not aware of his lips moving towards hers until they meet, and after recoiling a fraction she relaxes into his kiss, allowing him to explore her mouth with his lips and his tongue, and as they move back towards the bed, pressing closer to one another, his fingers run through her hair and over her skin.

He stops suddenly, aware that she's suddenly lying still.

"Clara?"

She's laughing.

"This... This is completely crazy. I'm still asleep, at home. This is another one of those stupid dreams I have with you and me." She shakes her head. "I'd pinch myself to wake up but I don't want it to be morning."

"It's not a dream," he whispers. "This is real. And it's what I've dreamed of, ever since I met you."

She stiffens. "Then... This shouldn't be happening. This doesn't happen."

"Believe me, it happens, Oswald." He can't stop himself from grinning.

"But, Doctor..." She wriggles herself up into a sitting position, rearranging her crumpled skirt, blushing furiously. "I need to ask you something."

"Fire away."

She reaches out and grabs his left hand, placing it on her lap next to hers so she can see both gold rings side by side. "We were both out of our minds last night. But please, tell me honestly. When you got this," she points to his ring, "and said that you wanted to be with me forever, 'until death do us part', did you mean it like I did?"

She glances up to see his face, but one look at his eyes, those beautiful eyes that have seen centuries she can only dream of, and she has to look away.

"Clara Oswald, I can't believe you're asking me that question."

Silence. She doesn't know what to say.

"I have lived over nine centuries, and in that time I've learnt a lot of things. I know about technology and time-space travel. I could answer questions on every galaxy and alien invasion there's been in that time. I've seen things you couldn't even dream of, gained everything I thought I could ever want and lost it all again. I've learnt what it is to be angry, to hate, to feel as though nothing could ever go right again. But I've also learnt how to be happy, how to find beauty in the ugliest of things, and how to make the most of what I have left. And then I met you, and you showed me the last thing I needed to feel truly whole... You showed me love, Clara. You didn't judge or punish or any of those other awful things I know that living things can do. You accepted me for who I am, and for that I will always be eternally grateful to you. And you ask me whether I meant it when I swore that I always wanted to be with you."

Clara stays silent, looking down as he takes her hand in his, turning it over and tracing an elaborate design of circles on her palm, softly murmuring words in a language she doesn't understand. After her fingers have left her skin, she can still feel the pattern they made, cool and tingling.

"What is it?" she whispers, as he tilts her chin upwards so she can see his face.

"Gallifreyan. It means 'sunrise, sunset, every day for the rest of our eternity, I will always love you."


End file.
